


did I find you, or you found me?

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (sort of), ACOK spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, POV Second Person, also whatever I write where Theon wasn't a hostage it doesn't matter his life always sucks, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where regardless of the North's efforts to stay out of the war, the ironborn take Winterfell anyway. The last thing Robb had expected was to fall for his captor, except that it's not exactly one sided.</p>
            </blockquote>





	did I find you, or you found me?

**Author's Note:**

> written for the yescon-asoiaf meme, for the prompt _inspired by Robb/Jeyne. AU where the North is peaceful and stays away from the war (a la Dorne) but the ironborn go take Winterfell anyway. Robb falls for the Greyjoy prince. 'He took my castle and I took his heart.'_ The title is from Talking Heads ( ~~gosh I used that song to title like three fics help~~ ), nothing belongs to me except the alternate canon.

_No one expected it_ isn’t a good explanation, you suppose, but if even your lord father couldn’t imagine that it would happen, then you suppose it’s going to have to do.

You had thought that after your father refused to be the king’s Hand for the second time, that the North would have been left alone after the war started.

None of you had imagined that the ironborn would invade the North when they had no reason to, as your father hadn’t gone with the king when the Iron Islands rebelled either.

But it happened, and no one was expecting it.

But you hadn’t expected to be the one patching up your conqueror, out of everything.

The Greyjoy prince isn’t what you had imagined, at least – for one, you’re kind of relieved that the first thing he did after storming into Winterfell, even if he had an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, was telling his men that nothing was to be torched down and that he’d have given rapists to the Drowned God personally.

You ended up getting the arrow out because it would have been ridiculous to expect your mother or your sisters to do it, and Maester Luwin had been confined to bed with a fever for the last week or so, and you think that he doesn’t look as if he’s too proud of his deed as you make sure that the arrow’s point is in one piece. It is.

“All right,” you say, “I have to get this out. I’ll do it at once.”

“As if it’d be what kills me,” he answers before nodding at you.

You yank the arrow out and he obviously bites down on his tongue so that he doesn’t scream, but then he breathes a lot more easily after you have it out. You grab a piece of cloth and press it on the wound as you reach for a water pitcher and wet a second piece.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I hardly can refuse you now, can’t I?” He’s half-smiling, and you think it’s a nice look on him, and then you berate yourself. He took your castle, you shouldn’t be thinking _that_.

“Why? I mean, my father never crossed arms with yours and we made a point of keeping ourselves out of that war.”

“I wish I knew myself,” he answers quietly as you clean blood off his skin. “I was just told I was to go for Winterfell while the others went for the harbors. So I went. It’s really nothing fucking personal.”

You nod and bandage the wound quickly, making sure that he’s not bleeding out.

“And you won’t even tell me your name after I valiantly save your life?”

He rolls his eyes. “As if. But by all means. Theon Greyjoy. And now I guess I’ll have to go see if my men have understood what I told them before.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

He shrugs and doesn’t answer as he leaves.

\--

In fact, they had not. You’re looking out of your window into the yard as you see Theon standing in front of one of the maids in the village, who’s on her knees, crying and with her dress torn.

“What did I say when we walked in here?” Theon says, and he sounds calm but you can see his shoulders shaking.

“I thought –” one of the men says, and Theon turns to him and sends him a look that silences him at once.

“You _thought._ I said I didn’t want this to turn out ugly. And I’ve made clear that I don’t like this kind of thing. Now, as far as I know, that is the one thing my sister and I agree on. Now, answer me. If it had been her instead of me, would you have done that?”

No answer comes.

“What I thought.” He turns to an older man who had seemed to be his second in command. “Hang him.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Hang him_.”

The other man nods and Theon leaves the yard looking sullen and disappointed throughout, and for a moment you feel bad for him. The reaver is hanged not long later and no one else tries it again.

\--

That evening, you go to your parents’ room – clearly you weren’t allowed to keep on as before, and the ironborn _needed rooms_. As it is right now, you, Jon, Arya and Sansa are sharing your room, Bran and Rickon are with your lord father and lady mother and Luwin is the only one who’s been allowed to keep his old room on his own. You did notice that Theon isn’t sleeping near his men though – he went for a room on the opposite side of the castle. Your wolf and your siblings’ are being locked in the stables.

When you walk inside, your mother is cradling Rickon to his chest and your father looks as if he’s despairing.

“Robb, tell me the truth,” he says when you close the door. “Is it possible to treat with him?”

“Why would you ask me?”

“Because he hasn’t even wanted to hear it from me, but – you’re the only one who’s allowed around the castle for some reason, and maybe he thinks he owes you for getting that arrow out. Try to find out.”

You sigh and sit next to Bran, pulling him against your side. “What are we talking about when we’re saying _treating_?”

“Just see what he wants first.”

The thing, you think, is that you’re not sure that Theon knows that himself.

\--

“Have you had anyone look at that wound?”

It’s been four days and he shakes his head as you stand in his doorway.

“Fine. Let me.”

“Why would you?”

“I finish what I start, Greyjoy.”

He looks at you with something that resembles respect before shrugging and taking off his shirt. You try not to notice that he’s very lean and that black looks good on him. And when you go sit at his back to check if nothing happened over there – you didn’t bother because the arrow hadn’t passed through, but since you’re here you might as well – you try not to think about the fact that there are old, white scars on it that look like whip marks.

“Congratulations,” you tell him after a short while, “you won’t die of an infection anytime soon.”

“That makes my heart swell in happiness,” he retorts before pulling on his shirt. He looks worried.

“Is there a problem?”

“How is that your business?”

“It doesn’t seem to me like, if there is, you’re telling anyone. And you might as well tell me, it’s not as if I can do anything either way.”

He looks at you for a moment or ten, his dark eyes staring straight into yours, but then he shakes his head firmly. “I can’t. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Listen,” you sigh, figuring that you might as well try and get it out, “if it’s nothing personal – maybe we could treat over –”

“Stark, I can’t. Not for now, anyway.”

“Very well.” you know a refusal when you hear one. You stand up, about to leave, and then –

“Dine with me tonight.”

“What?”

“Come to the main hall when I send for you.”

He turns his back on you after, and you swallow before closing the door behind you and leaving.

\--

Sansa insists to pick your clothes and look you over before you leave.

“This is ridiculous,” Arya protests from the bed where she’s huddled up next to Jon. “It’s not going to matter what he wears.”

“Oh, it will,” Sansa answers resolutely as she progressively hands you all the finest clothes she can find in your wardrobe before going through them a second time for another selection.

“How exactly?” Arya argues.

Sansa shakes her head and tells you to go wash your face another time just to humor her – you do, if only because it costs you nothing.

“Think about it,” Sansa snaps as she lays out dark grey silk trousers on the bed – you don’t think you’ve ever had occasion to wear those. Too fine for anything going on in the North, for one. “How does this usually work? If this had gone the way it was supposed to, he’d have asked me to dinner.”

You do see her point.

“But he’s asked _him_. And he’s the only one out of all of us he’s willing to talk to. No point in making him think it’s not worthy of at least dressing well.”

“That’s still stupid. Ironborn don’t care about dressing well. Maester Luwin says so,” Arya answers.

“She has a point, though,” Jon interrupts. Sansa looks delighted that someone is on her side. “Not – not going over the part where he hanged his own man, but from what I see he dresses a lot finer than his men. And it doesn’t mean anything that he’s a prince – I don’t really think it matters for them.”

“Good to know that someone in this castle has good eyes,” Sansa says before handing you a matching tunic and the shirt made of the softest cotton she could find between yours. After you dress, you feel ridiculous – all the silk of the trousers and tunic makes you feel like some kind of Dornish paramour – but Sansa is never going to let you out of this room dressed differently, and so you go along with it.

\--

Theon’s eyes go wide as he sees you walk into the room, escorted by two guards who look at you as if you’re scum. Then he looks down at his plate and tells you to sit. He’s on his own – no one else is dining with him, and the hall is huge. For a moment you think it’s a pretty sad sight, but then you sit next to him and resolve to keep your mouth shut.

It takes him a while to speak, after you’ve both gone through your first dish.

“When I said it was nothing personal, I meant it,” he finally says as he stares down angrily at his food. “And – I suppose your father must have told you to test the waters.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head all over again.

“He has,” you answer cautiously.

“I guess there’s no point in dancing around it. I can’t treat with you because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you in the first place.”

“Sorry?”

“I was told to get Winterfell and secure it to make sure you wouldn’t go help the others. I sent a raven asking for instructions the next day and I still didn’t get an answer. And I can’t possibly treat with you if I don’t have any.”

He also sounds as if he’s kind of ashamed of it, and – fine. You kind of feel bad for him, but you’re not going to say it outright and pour salt on the open wound.

“I understand,” you finally say before swallowing and putting a hand on his arm. “I guess no one could do that. That’s – I mean, as long as no one gets killed I suppose we can wait.”

“I don’t like killing people unnecessarily,” Theon sighs as he pushes away his plate. “As long as no one tries to escape, I won’t do anything.”

“It seems reasonable,” you agree as you push your plate away as well.

“Right. As long as we’re clear.” He looks at you again, and you notice that Sansa and Jon were right – he’s dressed finely, for an ironborn anyway.

He also looks completely lost.

“Would you like to take a walk around the godswood?” You don’t know why you ask, but he honestly looks as if he needs a distraction. “It’s not far. And it’s quite nice when there’s a full moon.”

He looks at you again, staring for a moment. “Hells, why not. Didn’t have anything better to do in the first place.”

You leave the hall – his men look suspiciously at the both of you. You show him the heart trees and the pools, and the small clearing where weddings are usually officiated. The moonlight makes the trees almost look silver, and Theon looks mildly fascinated by the entirety of it. You end up sitting on a rock next to the pools, where both yourselves and the trees are reflected in the clear water, and for a moment he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and you think that he really looks so very handsome like this, especially since he’s not scowling.

“That’s nice,” he says a moment later. “I suppose you don’t drown people in those pools.”

“Excuse me?”

“What I thought. Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

You end up staying there in silence for a long while before you go back to the castle.

“Thanks for showing me around,” Theon tells you as he shrugs, before a couple of guards bring you back to your room and he heads for his with the stance of someone who’s nowhere near proud of their conquests.

\--

You don’t see him for a couple of days, until Maester Luwin comes knocking at your door – nothing of import is happening. You’re helping Sansa braid her hair out of sheer boredom and Jon is telling Arya some ghost story when the door opens.

“Robb? I had a raven from Pyke.”

“And?”

“Just go to his room,” Luwin says before leaving, and you decide that there’s no harm in trying, and so you go.

You find Theon with his head between his hands, staring at a piece of paper as if he’d murder it if only he could.

“What happened?” 

He looks at you and instead of sending you out he stands up, locks the door and hands you the piece of paper.

You read it once. Then twice. At the third time, you have to come to terms with the fact that you haven’t made it up.

“This – this is –” you start, not sure of what to say.

“Go ahead,” Theon replies quietly. “Say it.”

“Why in the seven hells would he have even made you go through all this effort if we’re _useless_?”

Theon’s eyes go wide, as if it wasn’t what he had been expecting.

The raven is from his father – it says that his effort was appreciated but Winterfell is nearly useless as a fort, and he’s also heard rumors that he isn’t letting his men pay the iron price. Therefore he should torch the place, kill everyone inside except the Starks, bring them all as hostages to the islands and know for sure that he’s never going to be trusted with something of import since he obviously still didn’t understand that they follow the Old Ways.

“What?”

“It’s just – why? You did what he asked for and held this entire castle pretty decently, all things considered, and that’s what you get? It – it’s demeaning.”

“At least someone agrees with that,” Theon sighs. “And I can imagine already why he wants you all as hostages. He’d probably marry your eldest sister to bloody Maron, and I wouldn’t want to be in her place at that.”

“And – the rest of us?”

“He’d probably kill your father just to spite the king. For the rest I have no clue, but you really don’t want to find out.”

“Do we have any choice in not finding out?”

“Believe me, I don’t really want to,” he sighs, looking torn. You sit down next to him and put a hand on his arm again, and he leans into it at once before flinching back.

“Please leave,” he says, sounding strangled and resolutely not looking at you.

“Do you really want me to?” You suddenly feel bold now.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he says, still giving Robb the shoulder.

You wish that you were trying to turn this to your advantage. The thing is that you’re not.

“It matters to me,” he whispers, and then Theon turns towards you, finally, eyes wide and looking as if he’s trying so very hard to stay still.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he protests.

“I think I do,” you whisper as you move closer, your hand reaching up for his cheek, and – he doesn’t push you away.

He just looks at you in disbelief. “You don’t mean this.”

“I’m afraid I do,” you say, your voice trembling before moving closer, and then he moves and he’s kissing you, crashing his mouth against yours, his tongue finding yours in moments, and even if you shouldn’t, you bring your hands upwards, cradling his head in between your fingers and kissing him back with all your might, and you were expecting him to push you on the bed but then he pulls you over him instead. You kiss him again after you part for breath, and then again and again, and as he moans into your mouth and kisses back like a starved man, you know you want to do this as much as possible.

Which won’t be long, all things considered, but you don’t even care anymore as you reach for his laces and start undoing them while his nails dig into your shoulders hard enough to hurt.

\--

He’s warm and naked against your side, his head hidden in the hollow of your neck, his soft, dark hair pressed under your chin as you hold him close and think that you’re not so sure that you want to let him go.

“I like this place,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “I really don’t want to burn everything down. Shit, at this point the only thing I could do would be going to the fucking Wall.”

“Why? It sounds… a bit too extreme?”

“If I go back no one is going to care regardless about what I did here or any effort I might have put in this stupid war. If I let you all live I’m a traitor. What the hell should I do instead?”

You sigh, pressing him closer. “Send your men back and stay here.”

“ _What_?”

“You haven’t done anything to strictly harm us,” you say. “My father will come around, especially when he knows the entire story. And if I say that I like you, no one is going to object to my face.”

He moves away just a bit, enough to look at you in the eyes. “Seven hells. You actually fucking mean that.”

“I was always told I’m a bad liar,” you say, and that’s the truth. You are. You like him. And you want him to stay.

“Fucking ridiculous,” Theon says, moving a hand to the back of your neck. “I take your castle and you take my heart, what’s worst than that?”

“I – I did what?”

“I’m going to kill myself before I ever say that again, Robb Stark. But if you’re so sure that it’s going to work, it can’t be worse than the alternative.”

And then he smiles at you, not the grin you sometimes saw him send to his men, but a lovely, real one that makes his face almost light up, and as you kiss him again you think that you might have taken his heart, but the feeling is mutual.

End.


End file.
